


Five Kisses For Obi-Wan

by jessebee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drunken Kissing, Established Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Kisses, Kisses In The Kitchen, M/M, Morning Kisses, Not All Tags Apply to All Chapters, Qui-Gon Lives, Slash, Sleepy Kisses, Swimming, angsty kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 04:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12203883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin.  Five separate little stories about kisses.





	1. Tipsy Kisses

The mental contact reassured Qui-Gon that wherever it was in this mass of beings his partner had gotten to, Obi-Wan was fine.  Probably more than fine, in fact; the touch back to Qui-Gon’s query had been relaxed and happy.

Quite happy. Unusually happy, in fact – his once-cheeky padawan had grown all too serious since his  knighting.  Understandable, of course, coming as it had hard on the heels of the battle with the Sith that had left Qui-Gon himself within a hair’s-breadth of joining the Force.  But Qui-Gon had missed him, missed that sunny imp with his irreverent, sometimes dangerous sense of humor.

A more solid brush revealed reasons for the imp’s return:  Obi-Wan was – very unusually and quite comfortably – drunk.

A smile pulled at Qui-Gon’s mouth as he waded through the bright crowd, getting jostled good-naturedly here and there by citizens celebrating the formally-signed peace accords, a vast tangle of happy beings wanting nothing more and nothing less than to express their joy in myriad ways involving drink and noise and quite probably sex.  Not necessarily in that order.

Shielded though it was, Qui-Gon followed the thread-sense of the bond easily enough, fine as silk and stronger than allsteel, until he rounded yet another swaying knot of people and caught his former padawan’s profile, framed with that distinctive hair.

“Well, _finally_ ,” Obi-Wan said, and turned to face him.

Obi-Wan’s grin – and it was a Grin, this expression, wide and rare and welcoming – hit Qui-Gon full in the chest and soaked him instantly, filled him through with heat and need and the love Qui-Gon had only caught hints of but had carefully not seen because he could not see it, _could not_ , until they were equals.  Not until Obi-Wan chose to approach him.

Now everything around them, everything that wasn’t _Obi-Wan_ , blurred like the unimportant trivia that it was.  The setting sun turned the younger man’s shoulder-length copper hair to fire, haloing Obi-Wan’s face in light.  Filling their bond with light, intimate and exciting and dangerous and _necessary_ , like the suddenly thickened air around them as Obi-Wan stepped close, so close: if Qui-Gon inhaled too deeply, their chests would touch.

“Been waiting for you,” Obi-Wan whispered, watching him.  

It was all Qui-Gon could do to breathe.  “Have you?”

“Yes.  I have.” Obi-Wan nodded, and shadow trembled in the cleft of his chin. “Today, and yesterday, and every day since I was seventeen.”  His long-suppressed childhood brogue reappeared, lilting his words. “I’ve waited years for you.”

Qui-Gon’s hand lifted without input from his brain and touched Obi-Wan’s chin, fingers drawn to that sweet shadow like steel to a magnet.  In twelve years together, he’d touched this boy, this knight, this _man_ uncounted times before, but not like this.  Never like this.

His pulse picked up in amazement as Obi-Wan leaned into his touch.  “You’re drunk, Obi-Wan,” he said huskily.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed, his eyes drifting closed.

“And we’re in public.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth curved just at the edges.“Yeh.  And not a one of them cares a credit who we are.”  His eyes opened and Qui-Gon’s breath caught at the pupils gone wide, eclipsing the blue and green.  Obi-Wan’s hands rose, pressed the front of Qui-Gon’s shoulders and up, up, until his fingers slipped past the edge of Qui-Gon’s tunics.

The contact was fire against his skin.  Qui-Gon stilled him with his own hands around Obi-Wan’s narrow wrists, because this was dangerous, so dangerous. This could rip him apart in places no lightsabre could ever reach. “You’re drunk.”   _Do you know what you’re doing?_

Obi-Wan’s smile widened again, this time into something so precariously balanced between happiness and agony that Qui-Gon’s heart lurched.  “I do,” he said huskily.  “I am.  Doesn’t change a word of what I said.” And his hands were in Qui-Gon’s hair, pulling him down.

Obi-Wan tasted soft and warm and a bit sour, at first of beer and then of what had to be Obi-Wan himself, just himself.  

Instant. Addiction.

His tongue was in Obi-Wan’s mouth and his arms locked tight around his partner’s ribcage before Qui-Gon barely realized he’d moved, but Obi-Wan wasn’t protesting.  Obi-Wan was tasting Qui-Gon just as  deeply, fingers tightening in Qui-Gon’s hair nearly to the point of pain and plastering himself to Qui-Gon’s body, neck to knees.

The kiss went on until it could not any longer.  Qui-Gon broke away, only to bury his face in tangled copper and gasp, breathing in the night and sweat and the familiar smell of his padawan.  His partner.  His Obi-Wan.

His.

Oh, gods.  

So this was it. This was possession.

This was attachment. 

Qui-Gon squeezed his eyes shut.

Light of the Living Force, what were they going to do now?

 


	2. Kisses In The Dark

 

He stirred when Qui-Gon finally came to bed. The older man moved as quietly as he ever had, but Obi-Wan had set himself to watch and wake because really, this was becoming ridiculous. “Qui?”

“You should be asleep,” Qui-Gon rumbled. He was only a moving shadow in the dim of the room, but Obi-Wan knew precisely where he was.

“So should you.”

“I,” Qui-Gon said, the mattress shifting as he slid onto it, “am not the one who is currently recovering.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, even though the gesture was wasted in the dark. “Re- _co-v_ ered. I escaped the Healers' tender mercies nearly a tenday ago, if you recall.”

“Obi-Wan.” Ah, there it was, that oh-so-faint tinge of masterly reprove that even the three years' distance of Obi-Wan's own Knighthood had yet to quash completely. “You were badly injured, love; you'll forgive me if I'm cautious.”

Qui-Gon's arm came around him beneath the sheets and Obi-Wan sighed and snuggled in close. Qui-Gon was wonderfully warm, as usual; Obi-Wan himself tended to run a little cold and so they balanced each other nicely, metabolically speaking.

Obi-Wan rubbed his face sleepily against skin and chest hair, breathing in that wonderful Qui-Gon smell along with the faint traces of the last cup of tea his lover had drunk. Delicious. He mapped out a slow constellation of kisses on that unseen skin, savoring the reciprocal caress of fingers along his spine, sinking into the simple joy of this Moment.

Eventually, Obi-Wan laid his cheek into the hollow of Qui-Gon's shoulder and yawned. “'s my job now, I told you that,” he deadpanned, spacing the words between more sleepy kisses. “ _You_ don't get another run at the mortal injury thing, you used up all your tickets in one go.”

Qui-Gon went entirely too still. “That does _not_ give you the right to _rig the_ _game_ _._ ”

Wha – ? Ah. Apparently not yet a joking matter, but truly, the man couldn't actually believe – “Qui-Gon, really.”

The arm around Obi-Wan's back tensed.

Well, hells. Now he was awake. Little hundred gods, Qui-Gon couldn't _really_ – “Qui?”

No answer, but an faint increase in the heartbeat below his ear.

Obi-Wan heaved himself up against the pressure of that arm, propping himself on one elbow, and and Force-sharpened his vision to stare down at his former master in the dark. “Qui-Gon. You _don't_ think – ”

“That you'd put yourself in harm's way in order to keep me out of it? No, of course not.”

But.

Obi-Wan felt it, felt the word, felt the deep throb of emotion bleeding into the Force between them. _~Qui-Gon?~_

The barest hint of a sigh, and Qui-Gon lowered his shields.

Love and pride and perfect confidence in Obi-Wan's dedication and abilities, in the surety that duty to the Light would always come first, that his love for Qui-Gon would never supersede the will of the Force, no more than Qui-Gon's love for Obi-Wan ever would … and yet.

And yet the possibility, the very real probability that those exact qualities would in some year or as soon as tomorrow separate them, would rip Obi-Wan from Qui-Gon's side in this life as Qui-Gon himself had nearly been ripped away and make him part of the Force, and that this destiny was in fact _the very thing he had trained Obi-Wan for,_ for all those years.

Passion, yet serenity. Death, yet the Force.

Love; yet always, always service over self. The most sacred duty of the Jedi – the paradox at the heart of the Code.

_~Oh, my love._ ~

Qui-Gon smiled, the soft and gentle smile he wore only when they were alone, the one that filled his midnight-blue eyes.

He reached up to run his thumb delicately beneath Obi-Wan's left eye. “It's the life we've chosen, you and I, and we would have no other. But once in a while, I'm reminded of the cost. No, shh,” he murmured when Obi-Wan tried to answer, his voice betraying a faint tremble. “We have this Moment. Live in it with me, love.”

“Always,” Obi-Wan got out before speech became impossible, and leaned down to kiss him hard on the mouth.

 


	3. A Kiss We Had To Wait For

 

 

Water, Qui-Gon decided, was very nice, especially when it was _over_ _there_ and _he_ didn't have to slog through it.

Shouts and giggling drifted up from the shallow lake-waters some thirty feet in front of him. Anakin had been making good enough progress that today's swimming lessons had been allowed to devolve into a protracted water-fight. Which was, of course, a lesson in and of itself, although Qui-Gon was sure that Anakin hadn't realized that yet.

Qui-Gon smiled at the ruckus. Obi-Wan swam like a creature born to water – Qui-Gon had made sure of that early on – and was passing those skills on now to Anakin.

Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan sprang from deeper water to catch the boy again and roll him under, the motions carefully calculated to be sure his desert-bred pupil never was in too deep or beneath the surface the slightest bit too long. There would be no fear associated with this. Only fun, and the joy that grew out of increasing confidence in abilities.

He was a good teacher, Obi-Wan was, despite that young man's own misgivings. Qui-Gon had never had any doubts.

Shifting a little in his long lounging chair, Qui-Gon watched Anakin escape and flip around to tackle Obi-Wan around the waist, wet bodies going under again with a splash. Obi-Wan's grace, in form and motion and especially in spirit, stirred him, as it always did these days.

As he could _allow_ it to, now that Obi-Wan was a Knight.

They'd very nearly missed their chance, he and Obi-Wan, through Qui-Gon's own bone-headed, single-minded blindness as much or more than the machinations of the Sith. But these last three months had brought realization and change. Carefully, with the gentleness demanded by both Qui-Gon's battered body and Obi-Wan's damaged heart, but change indeed, slowly.

Slow and inevitable, but thankfully at last free of that sense of Force-born _push,_ of running out of time, that Qui-Gon had carried for so long it had become commonplace to him. No, that urgency was gone, leaving Qui-Gon shaken and deeply disturbed as he'd realized only then, in its absence, how clouded his perception had been.

 _And it only took nearly dying to achieve that._ Qui-Gon snorted.

And speaking of perception …

The morning was bright and warm, sparkling with the sunlight off the lake water. The Force seemed to shimmer as well, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes and sank into a light meditation. He could almost see it: luminous with the familiar, steady strength of his student's Force presence and Anakin's wild, brilliant bursts.

His student. Students. Former, present, and … in-between. The situation needed sorting, and soon. The miracle grace period Obi-Wan had won from the Council could not go on much longer …

“Master Qui-Gon?”

Had he fallen asleep again? Quite possibly. Qui-Gon opened his eyes to the two wet people beside him, Anakin right at his elbow and Obi-Wan just behind, both of them looking pleasantly tired and rather happy and smelling distinctly of lake water.

 _Have a nice nap?_ Obi-Wan asked, his sending flavored with teasing.

They'd not been telepathic with each other before Qui-Gon had nearly died, but it had been Obi-Wan's mental voice that had finally woken Qui-Gon from the coma. “A consolation prize,” Obi-Wan had quipped, his physical voice shaky, before he'd broken down in tears for perhaps the fifth time in all the years Qui-Gon had known him.

 _Resting my eyes,_ Qui-Gon sent back, with great dignity. _There is considerable glare off the lake, you know._

_Uh-huh._ Mischief danced in Obi-Wan's blue-gray eyes.

_And you were such a_ _deferential_ _padawan_ _, once._ “Enough water for the day, Anakin?”

“There can't ever be enough water, Master Qui-Gon! But Obi-Wan says it's almost midmeal time so I hafta come out now. And dry off, 'cause Gmin Zerla said we're eating inside today and we can't get her floors wet, that wouldn't be polite,” Anakin finished, quite seriously.

“Indeed it would not,” Qui-Gon agreed, a smile pulling at his mouth.

“Here.” Obi-Wan handed Anakin the towel he'd Force-lifted from the stack on the chair next to Qui-Gon's, and then sat down on the edge of Qui-Gon's chair, putting himself at the boy's eye-level. His leg pressed wet-warm against Qui-Gon's thigh and Qui-Gon allowed himself a moment to _feel_ that, the so-wanted life so close to him, before he put the sensation away, just as he put away the sight of the droplets of water caught like gems in Obi-Wan's chest hair.

“After you dry off and change, Ani, please go on ahead and tell the Gmin that we will be at table when she has asked us to be,” Obi-Wan said. “I'm going to talk to Master Qui-Gon for a few minutes.”

“What about?” Anakin asked, and Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at his tone – all interest with a big dose of suspicion. The child had made great strides already, but three months of freedom in no way wiped out the survival habits ingrained by nine years of slavery.

“Boring adult stuff,” Obi-Wan said gravely. “Nothing to do with you, this time.”

“No?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. Nothing more than that, but suddenly Anakin's whole expression changed. “Oh! No! No, of course not, you're not!” The words poured out in a flood as a sense of anticipation surged in the Force. Anakin unleashed the towel and scrubbed at himself with more enthusiasm than success. “Okay, I'm going now, so you two can – ”

“ _Ana_ kin,” Obi-Wan said, soft but firm.

“Huh? Oh.” And Qui-Gon watched, bemused, as the boy stopped in his tracks, cheeks turning a rosy shade beneath wildly mussed hair, and then executed a nearly flawless Initiate bow. “My apologies, Master Jinn, Knight Kenobi. With your permission I will go, go – do the stuff you asked me to?”

“Thank you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replied with apparently perfect aplomb; the amusement shimmering through their still-intact training bond told Qui-Gon otherwise. “We will join you for midmeal.”

They watched until Anakin disappeared into the confines of the great house. Then Qui-Gon turned to look at Obi-Wan and raised both eyebrows in question.

To his delight, an actual grin creased slowly across Obi-Wan's face. “He _is_ getting better.”

“Of course he is, he has a fine teacher,” Qui-Gon said composedly, his mouth quirking at the faint protest rising in Obi-Wan's expression. “That wasn't my question.”

Obi-Wan paused. “Oh?”

That sense of slow, delicious inevitability, coming to a head. “'So that we can' … what?”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a moment. Then his lips parted, and his head went down and – oh. Qui-Gon hadn't seen Obi-Wan blush, and certainly not like this, since his padawan's teenage years.

The sight struck Qui-Gon like a thump to the chest, making it just a little harder to breathe. The wash of emotion that snuck across their bond, shields or no shields, made it even harder.

He reached out, touching fingers to Obi-Wan's cheekbone and then to his right ear and behind. And Obi-Wan _shivered_ and looked back up at him, eyes wide. Qui-Gon let his hand trail down, feeling the ghost of the long padawan braid that had for years lain against that strong, graceful neck, and the tingling life beneath warm skin.

“Master?” Obi-Wan breathed.

“Qui-Gon,” he corrected gently. Because he was not this man's master any longer, not now.

Most especially not now.

“All things come to fruition in the Force, in their proper time,” he murmured, caught deep in blue-gray eyes now touched with hints of green. “Is it time at last, my Obi-Wan?”

A sharp breath. And then –

Joy, a small ripple that welled up and in the next heartbeat surged into brightness blinding as a sun, electrifying the bond and raising every hair on the back of Qui-Gon's neck. “It is,” Obi-Wan whispered, choked, and leaned in. “Oh, _it_ _is_ ,” and the warmth of the words brushed Qui-Gon's lips just before their mouths met.

Everything a first kiss should be, this was: soft and sweet, almost chaste. Until Obi-Wan licked at the seam of Qui-Gon's lips, and then it was anything but.

Calling it just a kiss was like comparing the Force to a speeder fuel cell. Obi-Wan's taste shocked across Qui-Gon's tongue, instantly addicting, and Qui-Gon had no clue how he'd lived for nearly five decades without it.

Years later they broke apart, their mouths separating with a moistly obscene little sound, and Qui-Gon took a much-needed breath of air. Since all he could smell was Obi-Wan, it didn't help at all. “That was … ” He swallowed. “That was well worth the wait.”

Obi-Wan's own stunned haki-fish look morphed into the most lusciously wicked grin Qui-Gon had ever been lucky enough to be the target of. “Was it?” he asked huskily, and licked his lips. “It's our duty to be absolutely sure. Let's try it again.”

 


	4. Teasing Kisses On Every Bit Of Available Skin

 

… touch. Soft touch, on the back of his shoulder … there? Yes … uhm, no … there. And there … oh. Mmm. Yes.

Gentle touches across his back, nuzzling in around the curve of his neck … ooh. Obi-Wan sighed and shifted, settling deeper into the bedclothes. It felt so good … warm, wet, the little ticklish brushes of … “Mmm.”

A soft sound that felt like laughter, and more little ticklish brushes of hair. Obi-Wan twitched. “ … doing?”

Another snort; definitely laughter, amusement warm in the Force. “Kissing you,” Qui-Gon rumbled, voice vibrating against Obi-Wan's skin. Shift of weight across his hip and the back of his thigh, Qui-Gon's leg tucked in-between his, heavy and comfortable.

Mmm, that was nice, but " … why?”

“Because you are here,” another touch to Obi-Wan's nape this time, and the wet rasp of a tongue. “Because I can see your skin, here, and you smell good,” a sniffing inhale, “and taste good,” followed by another, longer lick, “because you taste like you.” A sucking kiss, this time just in the curve of Obi-Wan's neck and shoulder. A hot gust of breath, a rumble – and the sudden nip of teeth.

Obi-Wan gasped as the tiny sting shot through him, conjuring arousal like a sudden rush of fire beneath his skin and leaving quivering nerves in its wake. He pulled in a sharp breath and was drowning in _them_ , the smell of the two of them together, musk and sex making this bed their own private, secret world. “Qui.”

“Ssshh,” and the long hiss of breath made him shiver. “Slowly, love. There's no rush. I'm going to kiss all of you, every bit of skin I can see – ”

“Qui- _Gon_ – ”

“And you're going to lay here and let me love you.” Qui-Gon breathed the words in Obi-Wan's ear and chased them down with the slow, relentless tip of his tongue.

Obi-Wan shuddered so hard he moved both them, his cock filling fast enough to sprain something. “Oh, gods. Please. ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with extra added sexy times: **"Kiss You All Over"** \- http://archiveofourown.org/works/13593813


	5. Comfortable Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This bit is part of a much longer AU that I just . might . finish. one of these days, where Obi-Wan and Anakin have died and got dumped back in time, several years before Naboo. But for Obi-Wan, nothing is like it was before ... )

 

 

The moment the door slid open, Qui-Gon relaxed. Obi-Wan _was_ home.

The deep breath to release and center himself was almost an afterthought.

Qui-Gon shucked out of his cloak and hung it on its customary peg next to the door, its dark fabric coming to rest in an intimate nestle with the folds of Obi-Wan's lighter brown one. Another deep breath, and he snapped open all the fasteners on his boots at once, a Force-trick he'd taught himself years ago as much to tweak his Master as anything else, but such a useful one that it'd long since become second nature.

The boots went onto the mud-tray, next to Obi-Wan's smaller ones, and Qui-Gon wiggled his toes in sheer hedonism for a moment before sliding on his soft Temple-shoes and going in search of his partner.

Not that it was much of a hunt. Qui-Gon had only to follow the smells of yeast and spices drifting out from their small food preparation area and there was the man himself, standing by the counter in nothing but exercise leggings and a half-sleeved tunic that had been ready for the recycler a year ago, up to his wrists in dough.

Every Jedi could feed themselves – it was one of the basic Initiate skills. Every field-rated Jedi from Padawan-rank up could both cook and forage, if necessary, for themselves and their Masters or mission-partners, regardless of species – to neglect such a basic survival skill would be idiotic in the extreme. Some actively disliked it, most simply tolerated it, some enjoyed it.

Qui-Gon himself fell somewhere a little upwards of “tolerate.” While he occasionally put together something more elaborate, his own tastes were simple and mostly ran to things basic and fresh wherever possible: fruit and cheese, breads and grains, vegetables raw or lightly cooked.

He'd taught Obi-Wan the more complicated techniques, of course, and had enjoyed doing it, his padawan's competency shining here as it did nearly everywhere. But left to his own devices, Qui-Gon would as soon throw together a large bowl of greens, vegetables, and cheese, and call the meal done. When Obi-Wan began to offer to cook, Qui-Gon usually took him up on it, quietly enjoying and encouraging his student's expanding repertoire.

The making of bread, however, was _not_ something Qui-Gon had ever taught him.

He'd learned it on Tatooine, Obi-Wan had said, the first time he’d made bread here in their quarters in-Temple; a skill born of necessity that had become a uniquely relaxing sort of moving meditation. _“You_ _really_ _can't hurry a rising bread, particularly there. The climate is – tricky.”_ Which Qui-Gon had thought at the time to be the understatement of the last decade. _“_ _It goes in its own way, in its own time, and one must learn to feel it. To work with it and not against.”_ A wry half-smile. _“Rather like the Force –_ _not listening to it just_ _gets_ _you_ _a horrible sticky_ _mess.”_

Qui-Gon stepped in close behind and wrapped one arm around his lover’s waist. Obi-Wan had dragged his shoulder-length hair up into a simple, sloppy, double-caught knot, which left hair-ends and the tips of his braids sticking out in a messy, copper-colored spray. Qui-Gon bent his head and pressed his mouth to the bared nape, tasting salt and Obi-Wan, sweat, and the barest hint of flour. Delicious.

Obi-Wan sighed, the motions of his hands slowing, and he tilted his head a little to one side.

Qui-Gon took him up on it, of course, planting slow, slow kisses along that fragrant curve of neck, up to the shell of Obi-Wan's right ear and behind, finding the spot where the braid on that side began and pressing his lips there for a long, thankful moment.

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“Hello,” Qui-Gon rumbled back, and Obi-Wan turned his head.

The kiss was warm and slow and easy, comfortable rather than arousing. Qui-Gon licked at the seam of Obi-Wan's lips, and danced a little with the tongue that welcomed him. “Mmm. You taste like _cernash,_ love. Sweet-bread, is it?”

“It is,” Obi-Wan said, when Qui-Gon moved back enough to see his eyes. “Tea?”

“I'd love some.”

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose, a gesture Qui-Gon found completely unreasonably endearing. “So would I; you are so _very_ kind to offer. The Ylkn black, please.”

Qui-Gon laughed and planted a quick kiss on the tip of that nose, and stepped around his partner to retrieve the kettle.

**Author's Note:**

> Little ficlets written in response to a Kiss Meme slinking around on tumblr, and I thought they should have another home. Original postings can be found on https://skyywalkerfen.tumblr.com

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Kiss You All Over](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13593813) by [jessebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee)




End file.
